


Boys Will Be Boys Will Be Gods Will Be Boys

by archestofenemies



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Humor, M/M, Pastries, Recreational Drug Use, Tickle Fights, Video & Computer Games, fraternity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archestofenemies/pseuds/archestofenemies
Summary: America, various nations: various de-anoned meme fills and random drabbles concerning America from like, 12 years ago. Replete with misadventures and misunderstandings of a humorous nature because America.
Relationships: America/Canada (Hetalia), America/Cuba (Hetalia), America/Denmark (Hetalia), America/Estonia (Hetalia), America/France (Hetalia), America/Greece (Hetalia), America/North Italy (Hetalia)
Kudos: 50





	1. Boys Will Be Boys (America/Canada, Canada/America)

**Author's Note:**

> Contains America/Canada, Cuba/America, Denmark/America, France/America, Greece/America, Estonia/America, N Italy/America (not all at once lol)
> 
> Don't blame me if these are crappy, these were like my first ever fics, some of you were babies when I wrote them, okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even remember what the prompt for this was, America/Canada and video games?

"Faster, Canada, faster! Harder!" America's voice was hoarse from trying to shout over the loud rock music, but from the enthusiasm he put into it, they were still going strong after 5 hours and had no intention of stopping anytime soon. Probably due to those incredibly unhealthy energy drinks.

"I'm going as fast and as hard as I can!" Canada yelled back indignantly. Still, the thumpings got progressively faster and more erratic.

"Whoa, whoa, too fast! Slow down!" There was a noisy crash as something heavy fell to the floor. "Ow, that hurts! Are you trying to kill me?"

"Aaah, I'm sorry!" The rock music suddenly died down to a dull roar while the two adjusted whatever it was that needed adjusting. "Looks like I'm not that coordinated after all," Canada apologized, although he did not sound very sorry.

"No, you're doing well for your first time, really, don't worry so much. You're concentrating too hard, just… go with the flow, ok?"

"A-america…" Canada interrupted in a tiny voice. "We've been doing this all night, can we stop now, please?" Even when he clearly did not want to do something that America put him up to, he still had to say please.

"Aww, come on, Canada, you're no fun." But the music was turned off anyway. "All right, all right, let's do something else then."

"Like what?" the other brother sounded suspicious, as he should after all these years of being America's neighbor.

"Something like… Tetris," America replied, and you could practically hear the leer that must surely be plastered on his face.

"Wha-? I thought you hated Tetris…" There was another thump and a muffled shout. "Ohhhh! Th-that… kind…"

* * *

Somewhere to the south, Cuba decided, not for the first time, to kill whoever it was that bought them a replacement drum set for Rock Band. Apparently this someone did not learn anything from the infamous "Guitar Hero: World Tour" incident last year. (Or did they?)

"Well," he thought as he put his pillow over his head and tried to muffle out the extremely personal sounds coming from the north, "at least they'll be quiet the next day…"


	2. Make My Dream Come True (Cuba/America)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuba/America, ice cream

America woke up with a jolt, drenched in cold sweat. He just had a terrible nightmare in which he was being fucked half to death by a big angry black dude in prison. As his bleary eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering in through the barred windows and he was able to discern the manly shape of, well, a big angry (and naked) black dude smoking a cigar next to him, America had a sinking feeling that it was not a dream after all.

"Hey, you awake… Canada?" This last word was said with some uncertainty, as if the owner of the deep voice could not quite believe what he was saying.

Thinking fast and recognizing the imminent danger his ass was in, America cleared his throat and did his best at imitating Canada's perpetually apologetic tone. "Um… yeah."

"Want some ice cream?"

Ice cream? After getting fucked half to death? Did that make the pain go away or something? He was certain that if this is how Cuba treated Canada (and he assumed that they were friends, more or less), then he, the awesome and beautiful hero, was probably going to be fucked all the way to death should Cuba ever find out he was actually America instead of Canada. …With his proudly non-Communist corpse offered ice cream afterwards.

Well, he wasn't going to die in such a demeaning way, not if he can help it!

"That sounds great, Cuba. What flavors do you have?" he asked as cheerfully as he could.

"Chocolate and vanilla."

Oh shit… Which was Canada's favorite? Argh, why didn't he pay attention whenever Canada came over?

"I'll uh, have whatever you're having." Was he supposed to say "eh" now or later? How come he couldn't remember that either?

Luckily, Cuba seemed to believe his charade, and he got up to get the ice cream.

America let out a quiet sigh of relief, rubbing at his eyes with his hands. Now came the question of how he got to Guantánamo Bay, what he was drinking the night before and how Cuba could possibly mistake him for his brother…

* * *

Somewhere in Washington D.C., Canada wondered why no one was picking up their phone. "More bars in more places, my ass," he thought, as he left yet another voice message for America about their misplaced plane tickets.


	3. Weinerbrod (Denmark/America)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denmark/America, pastries

"Oh. My. God. A Danish."

"It's Dane, not Danish-," Denmark started, instinctively making the correction, and then found himself pushed out of the way before he could finish.

"I loooooove Danishes." It was America, of course, grabbing one of the breakfast pastries set out on a table by the door and happily shoving it into his mouth. The resulting blissful look on his face could only be described as orgasmic. "So fucking good," he mumbled through a mouthful of dough and apple preserves.

Partly disgusted and partly fascinated, Denmark could only gape at this spectacle. Not that it was a particularly new sight, America actually did this at every world meeting, but generally he reserved it for his hamburgers and soda and ice cream and chocolate and coffee. It just happened that today they had an early morning meeting, and breakfast foods came up on the menu.

"Hey, you," America gulped down the pastry, wiping his sugar-covered hands on his suit jacket, and continued without pause, "you're Denmark, right?"

Denmark nodded, flashing a grin at the other nation, unreasonably proud that America, finally, without prompting from another nation, got his name right on the first try. Honestly, there weren't that many tall blond nations around, were there?

" _Kongeriget Danmark_ , at your service."

"So… you know how to make those?" America asked, gesturing towards the last Danish sitting on a tray, blue eyes glinting with the sort of rabid fervor that could only be found in a twelve year old girl at a Hannah Montana concert.

"Of course." Well, he actually had never tried to bake _wienerbrød_ himself, but figured that if the majority of Danes knew how, then that meant he most likely knew, by osmosis or something.

"That is so awesome. You know, you should show me how to make them some time!"

Somehow, Denmark managed to keep his hesitation under the diplomatic limit of three seconds. "Sure thing, America, I'd love to."

America closed his eyes and made a high-pitched noise under his breath that was as disturbing as it was cute.

Denmark laughed and pointed at his own face. "You got some icing on your lip, America."

Blinking in confusion, America licked at his lips, looking much like a puppy. "Is it gone now?"

"No. Here." He reached towards the side of America's mouth, where a flake of sugar remained, wiped the icing off and then licked his finger thoughtfully. A little sweet for his taste, but the rest of Europe tended to go overboard with the sugar, especially that _Belgien_.

"Oh… Err… Thanks, Denmark," America stuttered, blushing slightly.

Ignoring the sole Danish sitting on the table still waiting to be eaten, Denmark smiled, leaning in forward to cup the other's chin, tilting it up so that he could taste the rest of the pastry on America's lips, a medley of sugar and butter and apple and coffee that tasted not so much of capitalism and innovation and warmongering, but of comfort and home and simple contentment.

It was with some regret when Denmark broke off the kiss, but it had to end some time, since America's grip on his wrist was starting to cut off the circulation to his fingers.

"I think I may have butter cookies in my room, the kind that comes in the blue tins," he murmured into America's ear, savoring that tiny boyish gasp, that delicious full-body shiver. "Do you want to…?"

This time Denmark welcomed the interruption, eagerly stumbling to catch up as America dragged him towards the elevators.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Author's Note: reading these 3 (that is 11) years later, this is all sorts of terrible and inaccurate, but man, did I laugh like a maniac writing these. And that's all that matters, in the end.]


	4. TICKLE FIGHT (France/America, Estonia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> exactly what it says on the tin

America could not believe the audacity of the other nation, the blatant disregard for the fact that Estonia was sitting only a few feet away in front of his laptop, finishing their committee presentation for tomorrow's meeting. There he was, innocently reading a report and twirling a lock of long blond hair around a finger, while below the conference table his couture-socked feet were gently rubbing at America's legs in slow, sensual motions. Up and down the side of his calf, pressing against the material of his trousers lightly. Touching his ankle, grazing his shin, then his knee.

Any higher and America would have to declare it an act of war.

Not paying any attention to the paper, France was actually gauging the other's reaction as he followed the seeming miles of leg with the tips of his toes before delicately reaching in between those long limbs. He grinned to see the boyish flinch, and shamelessly stretched further with his foot, seeking out those vital regions with all of the skill and experience of the country of love. It certainly was not his fault they were assigned to the small meeting room with a conveniently undersized conference table, and he needed to work some blood into his limbs after sitting still for several hours. Of course.

America bit his lower lip fiercely, finding it impossible to concentrate on the dossier with the secret game going on underneath the table. At least France decided to start this after they finished most of their work, but it seemed like he was trying to make up for lost time, judging by how dangerously close that foot was to his groin. Exhaling loudly, America tried to sit up straight and pull his legs back – why did he slouch in his chair in the first place and make himself a target like that – but France had already hooked his feet around America's ankles, holding him fast.

With a barely audible grunt, America glared at him, silently threatening another McDon*ld's in his beloved Paris. France just smiled and touched an elegant finger against the curve of his lips, and America rolled his eyes in exasperation.

Well, he'll play along this time, and get back at the pervert later. Right. France will get bored soon, he always does.

Oh, wait, but this was not fair, not fair at all. Across the table, France managed to calmly turn to another page even as one foot pushed the fabric of America's trousers up several centimeters and began to mercilessly brush against the bare skin above the top of his sock. America managed to stifle a gasp just in time, although he was unable to control the sudden hot blush creeping up his neck onto his cheeks.

Estonia did not bother to look up when America cleared his throat, quickly yanking his feet back, then wriggling out of his own loafers in order to return the assault, fighting fire with fire.

France's eyes widened imperceptibly when he felt America retreat, only to promptly counterattack with his own unshod feet. An admirable effort, but the brat was still woefully ignorant of exactly who he was up against. He paused his actions, and as soon as America thought he was winning, France snuck his silk-clad foot forward and deviously brushed at the sole of the other's foot with a toe, just enough to trigger the sensitive nerves there. As predicted, America nearly jumped in his chair, making a strangled squeaking sound. Even Estonia noticed that, and he glanced at America, concerned.

"Is everything all right, America?"

"Y-yes!" he managed to grit out, even as France continued to tease him out of sight, ruthlessly taking unfair advantage of his ticklishness, catching his leg by the ankle to keep him from kicking back. "I… just remembered something important I had to do, b-but you keep on working, don't worry about it." America took out a pen and began scraping away at a sheet of paper as if he wanted to hurt it, gnawing at his lower lip distractedly, trying to stifle his laughter with as much self-control as he possessed, which sadly was not very much.

"Okay…" Estonia shrugged and turned back to his computer, trying to not pay any attention to the occasional snort of what sounded like laughter as he put the finishing touches on their slides.

Desperately, America clutched at the edge of the table, determined not to give up despite the fact that he was clearly being outmaneuvered by the older nation. Every time he tried to stomp on France's foot or kick his shin, France would dodge or block him, and then smugly retaliate with devastating effectiveness, knowing exactly where he was the most vulnerable, what would cause him to eventually burst out into laughter.

Ah, he had finally worn down the younger nation's defenses, France noted triumphantly. America was now consumed with silent giggles, holding his aching side as he tried to breathe. His face was bright red, tears glistening on his lashes, a hand covering his mouth as if that would hide his evident mirth, and yet he somehow did not think to use his superior strength to resist France's tickling. Utterly helpless, and so absolutely adorable as well.

Finally, France thought to give America some respite, and quickly putting his designer dress shoes back on, he got to his feet and swept over to Estonia's side.

" _Mon cher,_ why don't we adjourn the committee for the day?" he whispered, letting his fingers sweep the other's pale hair back with the lightest of caresses. "I think we all deserve a break after our hard work, poor America looks ready to faint from… caffeine withdrawal." Well, he had not had a soda in 30 minutes, that was practically caffeine withdrawal for America.

"Errr… sure thing, France," Estonia murmured, flushing slightly from France's proximity. "Yes, I think we are ready for tomorrow's conference, so… I will see you two then?" They both nodded, America somewhat less composedly than France, and Estonia promptly packed up his things and departed, expressing his sincere hopes that America would feel better soon.

Oh, he will be feeling much, _much_ better soon, France thought as he locked the office door behind Estonia.


	5. S'Up, Brah? (Greece/America)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have personally never smoked a marijuana while in university myself.... that I know of. But I was high on something writing this lmao

America woke up with a pounding headache, noticeably liberated of clothing, and the sickening realization that once again, he had done what must be termed an "England." That is to say, he got drunk off his ass, said something stupid, ended up naked, and then proceeded to have a night of wild uninhibited sex with someone he swore he would never have sex with. Russia came to mind, Cuba as well, members of his family, the entire EU, probably China a couple of times… God, and he was doing so well with not following in his so-called parent's footsteps these days. But frat parties were frat parties, and these things happened all the time, or so they told him. (Personally, he was starting to feel just the slightest bit of concern for the future of himself, if what they say was really true.)

Groaning softly in misery, America blearily reached for his glasses lying on the cheap nightstand and put them on, glancing around the small bedroom. It looked like his partner had just left, judging by the rapidly cooling space on the other side of the mattress. For a brief moment, he entertained the hope that it was Canada - nice, safe Canada - but he looked over and saw his brother passed out on the floor, wearing nothing but a sweatshirt with the logo of a university he never attended. If, and this was a big if, he did actually do it with his own brother, it was not within the past several hours. Damn…

Memories, of the type one would rather not remember, stubbornly pushed through his alcoholic haze, and with increasing horror, America was able to put together a sketchy recollection of the previous night's events. They were heading to their hotel after a particularly stressful world meeting, Canada jonesing for some MJ, so Netherlands laughingly directed them to the nearest college campus, and of course, they had to check it out. Some friendly young men at a table by the student union invited them to a party later that night, America accepted on their behalf, and that was how Canada and he showed up at the frat house a little (okay, okay, more like completely) stoned. At that point, America's mind refused to process any more out of a sense of self-preservation, and the nation pressed the pillow to his face in a half-hearted attempt to smother himself, wondering if he should get up and try to find some clothes and sneak out before anyone noticed. But maybe in a little while, because every part of his body hurt right now, and he didn't want to bother Canada, who looked pretty comfortable, plus it was still kind of early, and the naked fellow lying next to him was nice and warm… Wait, what?

"Good morning, Icarus…"

America blinked a few times, mind reeling, while his mouth went on automatic as it was prone to do in impending international crises like this. "Dude, it's America, Alfred, Al, Jones. You keep mispronouncing my name."

Greece smiled sleepily, and it was then America noticed the other's arm draped over his chest, close, familiar. Oh, well, that explained some things, like the amazing sex he had last night, though not other, more important, things. "Err… what exactly are you doing here, Greece?"

"Curious."

America snorted, ignoring the fact that it was his own lack of common sense that got them into this mess in the first place. "Didn't curiosity kill the cat?"

"I am not dead yet," Greece murmured, and America just barely managed to repress a shiver at the dark smoky tone of his voice. Man, the guy really was sex on legs, at least when he wasn't sleeping, though Greece being unconscious didn't stop France that one time…

"Well, I-I'd appreciate it if we kept this, err, between us. No need to go gossiping to any of the other nations. Not that you would, of course…" Dreading the thought of England finding out, America sighed and ran his fingers through his hair distractedly, only to have Greece take his hand and kiss it on the fingers and wrist.

"You worry too much. You are young, and allowed to have fun once in a while."

"Fun?" America drawled out in disbelief. Sure, it was fun, good irresponsible fun, see also shameful and undignified for a superpower, and oh God… "Is Canada all right?!" he whispered frantically, trying to sit up, but failing to fight off the sudden dizziness.

Greece shrugged, replacing his arms about America as he collapsed back onto the thin mattress. "He did well for himself last night."

"You mean he actually scored? Sweet." Hah, and all this time England kept saying he was a bad influence on his brother, no way.

"I meant that he beat you into the ground. Twice."

"… He did?" America shifted uncomfortably, though there was no reason why Greece and his aching body should be deceiving him.

"For the… ritual."

"Oh." That made sense, as much as college life would make sense. Canada was merely participating in some hazing, egged on by the fraternity members, and was not kicking the shit out of him because of past resentment or anything like that.

Greece looked thoughtful and offered, "I thought you both did well, completing such unusual dares. The other young men were impressed."

"Well, duh," America could not help but preen. Who wouldn't be impressed by such a stud and his almost-as-awesome brother?

"Especially when you and Canada dressed up in women's garments and danced. That reminded me of the old days…"

"…Fuck… Fuckity fuck fuck. They didn't take pictures, did they?"

Greece nodded, and America thanked God that most of the nations could not navigate Facebook that well, though he had his suspicions about Estonia sometimes. He would have to find a computer soon and untag anything with their names, in the off chance any of these punks bothered to upload the photos and remembered to label the mysterious Alfred F. Jones or Matthew Williams. Hopefully they wouldn't dare, since pledging rituals were supposed to be secret, but Canada in lingerie, that would find itself on the internet no matter what.

"Wait, didn't you rush, too, Greece?" They would have definitely accepted him, didn't fraternities use Greek letters and follow the ancient traditions and all that bull? Plus, he was smart and handsome and looked loaded and totally masculine and not gay in any way.

"No. I told them I was in a senior chapter."

"Damn, I wish I thought of that." Not that they could come up with anything so convincing while stoned.

"Mmm…" From that point on, Greece refused to answer any more of America's questions, instead putting his mouth to far more titillating uses.

Well, if there was anything good to have come from last night, it would have been this, America thought to himself.


	6. Science Versus Romance (Estonia/America)

"Hey, Estonia, what's up? Did you check out that email I sent ya?"

"Yes, I did, America. Sorry, I didn't get the chance to reply yet." Estonia felt it was unnecessary to mention that he actually had read the email (concerning developments in government internet security, from what he could decipher) several times, every "LOL" and "OMG" and outdated emoticon like a Cupid's arrow to his heart. Nor should America know about the hours he had spent trying to compose a reply and failing miserably. He ducked his head and concentrated on the documents he had pulled up on his laptop, willing the blush that was about to rise to his cheeks to dissipate.

"Aw, don't worry about it," America replied, that movie-star smile lighting up his face and a space of 1.3 cubic meters all around him. "I got some free time, we could go over it now."

There was nothing he would love more, but all Estonia said was, "All right, let me find the email first."

"What, here? Pssh!" America exclaimed. "We're out for today, let's go to a coffee shop. My treat."

Estonia found himself dragged out of the conference room, with laptop tucked under one arm and his other hand clasped in a warm grip, almost stumbling to keep up with America's impossibly long strides. Fortunately, the coffee shop was just across the street, empty but for a middle-aged businessman reading a newspaper. Before they sat down and discussed business, America ordered them some drinks, directing the full force of his irresistible charm towards the bored-looking cashier until she blushed to the tips of her multiply-pierced ears.

The tables were much too small, Estonia thought, very aware of America pulled up close beside him, the way his blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses as he stared at the laptop screen, the adorably obnoxious sound he made as he sucked at his iced mochaccino through a straw. Of course, America couldn't sit across from him, he wouldn't be able to see the screen that way. But every time America's leg brushed against his, Estonia had to fight the simultaneous urges to shiver and melt at the touch.

Once they opened the email, the conversation turned to technical matters, and Estonia breathed an inward sigh of relief. As dense as the other nation could be in certain areas, he really was a technology prodigy and understood everything Estonia brought up without needing further explanation. It was just so easy to talk to him once one got over the initial awkwardness of him not remembering anyone's name, and Estonia held a deep regard for those who could communicate well, although this was likely more because America lacked the sophistication to lie convincingly than anything else. They discussed the issue of government network encryption, brainstorming ideas to circumvent hackers and outwit the plots of cyber-terrorists while maintaining data integrity and infrastructure. More than once, Estonia laughed when America blurted out one of his usual crazy ideas.

In a burst of inspiration, America quickly sketched out a framework on a napkin that would have made a comp-sci professor at MIT throw his degree away in shame, jotting down notes for reinforcing security with multiple layers of shifting encryption.

"We could probably talk to Switzerland about what he uses to protect sensitive information in the banks," America suggested, scribbling a few more ideas and doodles onto the napkin.

"Unfortunately, he doesn't like to share information with outsiders. He doesn't even let Liechtenstein talk to me," Estonia said with a sigh.

"That's too bad," America replied, grinning to himself as he folded the napkin into an airplane. "Tell ya what, I'm gonna bring this up to the folks back home and I'll let you know what we figure out. We've got good guys in the department, but those Russian hackers are insane."

"I understand completely." Although the time his government site was hacked and replaced with pro-Russian propaganda, it had actually been the work of an Estonian, not a Russian. It was terrible, Russia would not let him hear the end of that for days, and Estonia's mood immediately worsened just remembering the incident.

"Estonia? Something up?" America leaned in even closer, briefly squeezing Estonia's shoulders in a half-hug. "You want me to get you a hot chocolate? Or a donut?"

"No, it's nothing serious, I'm fine," he replied, laughing sheepishly. "Thanks, America." Estonia cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, feeling noticeably warmer due to America's proximity.

Still smiling, America smoothly got to his feet, making his way to the counter while Estonia accidentally left his finger on the L key watching him. With a soft curse, he quickly deleted the jumble of letters right before America returned, holding a sprinkle-covered donut and a cup of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream.

Estonia did his best to decline the sweet, claiming that he was trying to cut back on sugar, but America insisted, and he was impossible to turn down. They ended up sharing the donut, much to Estonia's mortification, and he blushed deeply, watching America lick the pink frosting off of his fingers with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Hey, remember that movie we made the last time I was around?" America asked out of nowhere. "D'you still have it? I haven't watched it in a while, kinda wanted to see it again."

There was no way Estonia could have refused such a request, and he happily acquiesced. Although he would not quite label it high art, he liked watching the dramatic ending credits that America directed and starred in, regardless. Something about America made him perfect for the silver screen, or computer screen as the case may be, and Estonia had to admit, it was probably America's presence that garnered the film so many views on the online video sharing site.

They did not get further than two minutes into the film before a warning notification popped up on the taskbar.

"Ack, it looks like the battery is running low," Estonia mumbled, embarrassed. "And I left my laptop charger back at the hotel."

"No problem, we can just watch it later. You're… not busy tonight, are you?" America asked, fixing Estonia with an expectant half-smile.

"Uh, I should be free after dinner." Estonia tried to look perfectly calm and not about to hyperventilate and hoped he succeeded.

"Awesome! I'll call you around eight o'clock then?"

Nodding, Estonia closed the laptop, and before he lost his nerve, before his heart gave out from how hard and fast it was beating, he leaned forward and gave America a quick peck on the cheek. "It was great talking to you again, America," he whispered, and smiled as cheerfully as he could before turning and fleeing to the safety of his hotel room.


	7. The World is New (Chibitalia and baby America)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic for the first fanart I ever drew for Hetalia, d'awww… Chibitalia representing Christopher Columbus and the "discovery" of a part of America.

"America, I have to leave now." Italy kissed the top of the infant's head and America laughed at the attention. He raised his arms, wanting to be carried, and unable to resist, Italy scooped up the child, grunting a little with the effort. He walked out to the water's edge, where seagulls wheeled in the blue skies among the strange masts and sails of white linen. "My home is that way, way across the ocean, where the sun rises."

"Is it really that far?" America squinted into the horizon, trying to find this Old World. "When... when will you come back, Italy?"

"I... don't know yet. Other men will come here in my place."

America's eyes widened in surprise.

"But don't worry, they're here to help you, not hurt you!" He hoped that the child did not catch the slight tremble in his voice, did not recognize it for an outright lie.

"But I want ~you~ to come back. You haven't seen the mountains yet, or the great river, or the buffalo! You have to see the buffalo!"

"I-I'll try to come back, I promise. Because I want to see them, too!" Italy kissed America again, trying to engrave upon his memory the feel of soft skin and the smell of golden hair - like tall sweetgrass and springtime and most of all, freedom - knowing he would probably never return. "Remember, America, you're the most important person in the world now."

"I am?"

"Absolutely! Everyone wants to visit you and they want to know you better. France, and Spain, all the great leaders back home. So you must be a good boy for them, like you were for me. Can you do that?"

"I'll be a good boy, Italy. I promise!"

Italy could not help but smile, knowing America's definition of "good boy" was closer to the definition of "naughty boy who needs a spanking."

They watched the crystal clear waves break gently on the shore and listened to mournful seagulls call while the sailors finished their preparations for the long voyage home. When he could put it off no longer, Italy reluctantly set the boy down on the sand and was surprised when America put a tiny hand against his face.

"Why are you crying, Italy?" America's voice was gruff but there was no mistaking the tears shining in his blue eyes.

Italy tried to laugh it off, tried to be brave for this child who had no idea what the future would hold for him, but the laugh came out like a sob.

"Because... I am so happy to have met you!"


End file.
